Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Caesar: What man is that?
Brutus: A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
Julius Caesar Act 1, scene 2, 15-19
Step Seven: Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
The past tense of the word “asked” turned this step into a mountain for me. I needed to get it just right; line up all my ducks, examine every nook and cranny in my disease-ridden head that might be outlying. Prepare an offering of humble contrition that will be presented in a thatched basket than I hand-wove, along with various fruits. After months of climbing, having reach the summit, I leave my basket at the base of some nondescript statue and run away.
When I arrive back in civilization, I am greeted with love and open arms and total acceptance. I have no anger, fear, or doubt. I am not antsy, nor jealous, nor resentful. For I have left all my shortcomings in a basket at the top of a mountain, and that is where they shall stay.
Yeah, right. Problem is, I always read this step in terms of absolutes, which made proceeding impossibly pointless. That’s a blockage of my own making.
So, I spend the rest of my life climbing the mountain and leaving the basket? That’s of no comfort: I want it over and done with. More importantly, my alcoholism wants it over and done with. It’s the “constant growth”, “never over”, parts to this program that really piss off my complacency.
On the positive side, going up and down a mountain all day gives me something to do.